


Red String of Fate to the Rescue

by redlionspride



Series: Red String of Fate Series [2]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fate, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Red String of Fate, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-16
Packaged: 2018-03-07 20:39:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3182396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlionspride/pseuds/redlionspride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s common for people to fall in love with one person who was ‘meant’ for them. Everyone says it when they feel they are really in love. It’s true, once you find that one person for you; they really are meant for you. But then there are those who are actually just fated to BE together. The fabled Red String of Fate.</p><p>Phil Coulson is one of these people.</p><p>When Clint is wounded it's the Red String of Fate that brings Phil to him, saving him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red String of Fate to the Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of Fluff from my Red String of Fate universe. Hope you like it :D If this goes well I might add more to it. It's fun :D

It’s common for people to fall in love with one person who was ‘meant’ for them. Everyone says it when they feel they are really in love. It’s true, once you find that one person for you; they really are meant for you. But then there are those who are actually just fated to BE together. The fabled Red String of Fate.

The Red String of Fate is a well known legend in several countries, and not everyone actually has one. Or at least not everyone can see their string, so they may never know about it at all. There are chances that their fated love has died away long before they should have and will never meet in this life. There are others that disbelieve in love so strongly that they might meet the person fated for them and they never even realize it. 

Then there are people who can see the string. An actual little string wrapped around a finger, tied like a little bow, or a knot. Sometimes it’s ribbon of bright red, other times a twist of blood red rope twine. It all depends on the people that are connected. 

Phil Coulson is one of these people. He grew up seeing his string, waving softly from his pinky. When he was a child his great aunt filled his mind with stories and tales. Old fables that he thought were just for fun. Stories about young warriors who were fated to meet, even if they were on the wrong side of a war. Or couples who never would have met except for strange circumstances and a switch with their luggage on a train one day. That kind of thing. 

When Philip was nine years old, playing on the front porch of his Great Aunt Bertha’s home in Chicago, pushing little green army troopers through the dirt of the rose garden, his aunt nearly dropped her lemonade glass to the ground, spilling it over the dusty, chipped paint of the wood below her rocker. 

“Oh my boy! My precious, sweet little Philip!” She cried out, sitting her half spilled glass to the side and standing more swiftly than a woman her age should. “Come here child! Let me see you!” 

Phil, being startled by not only her spilling her drink but her squawking as well was already well on his way up the steps, hands out to try and steady her. “Auntie, be careful! Are you alright?” She was old after all. Anything could happen! His mom wasn’t meant to come pick him up until tomorrow and he knows he can get help from next door, but he’d rather her be alright. 

She grabbed his hand, drawing it closer to her eyes, looking over it. Her face lighting up in a smile so large. One of those smiles she got on holiday parties when she’s had one too many glasses of wine and someone says something mildly funny but she reacted over dramatically. “Sweetheart, it’s happened! Oh I was worried it wouldn’t.” She drew his hand up to kiss his pinky, than his knuckles, hauling Phil in closer to hug him. Her old arms wrapped impossibly tight around his shoulders and head, squeezing him grandly. 

Phil was swept up so swiftly in his Great Aunt’s hug that his breath was nearly taken away. He gasped, eyes wide, and worried. “Auntie?!” He asked again on a choked voice. 

“I’m fine, my love. My boy. My dear sweet Philip. I’ve never felt better. It’s happened. Oh you’re life will be so happy once you know. Once you find this person.” She let him go long enough to reach for both his hands, lowering herself to the porch to a knee, looking him in the eye. “You’ll understand, when you’re older. I’ll make sure you do.” 

He hated it when adults told him that. They said it often too. 

\-----

Two hundred and eighty nine miles away, in Waverly, Iowa, a baby was born. The Barton family’s second child. Barney thought he was too small and looked weird. Too red. Clint felt nothing at all but the alarming feel of being born into the world. 

\-----

When Phil was around twelve, laying out on the floor in front of the television he felt nothing out of sorts. His Great Aunt however started to worry her lip, twisted her hands a bit, and kept a hawks eye on the boy. She kept checking his hand, or checking his forehead for fever, or asking him if he was alright or feeling well or not. 

His string had tinted a darker brownish red in color and lay across the floor, listlessly. It took a day to brighten again, much to Bertha’s delight. 

\-----

A young Clinton Barton had tripped down steps in their house, tumbling with a crash. His brother and him wrestling a bit too hard on the second floor. Barney didn’t mean it, and he ran to protect his little brother, crying over him. 

While Clint was taken to the hospital, Barney was made to stay home. The trauma didn’t last long and Clint woke up the next day, returned home a few nights later. 

\-----

While at his big sisters birthday party, Philip sat next to his Auntie, legs swinging over the railing of the front porch, balancing there. He was more interested in the story she was telling him, about elves and seelie courts then he was about a silly girls birthday party. Half the girls around him kept trying to smooch his face and give him girl cooties anyhow, so he was safer around his Great Auntie, who half these kids thought was a witch anyhow. 

While she told him her story she noticed the change in his ribbon. It started to go a little pale, more pinkish than anything. SHe’d never seen a string of fate do that before. It drooped for some time and waved lightly on a non existent wind. 

For the next year or so it was a faded pinkish red and didn’t wave as much, but it was still there. She feared it might be a bad sign however. A little over a year later it started to grow darker again, brighter at times. It never seemed to take on that vivid red as it once had been. 

\-----

When Clint was young his parents died in a car crash, or so he was told. He and his brother were given to the state and an orphanage, and there he spent his time, hoping they would be adopted and never were. In his first year, it was bad. Barney was always mad, and he couldn’t remember how to smile. It took a full year before he started to feel a little better. His world was still pretty bad, but he was going to get over it. 

\----- 

There were other incidents, all of which Philip didn’t know about. After that first day, Bertha realized she scared the boy, so every little event after she silently watched and worried. She told him all about it of course, when he was a bit older. When she felt he was ready to know. Ready to see what fate had in store for him.

When he was seventeen and she passed away was the day he was able to see it. A strange little red string that no one else could see, tied to his pinky and waving softly. He was sad, and it looked sad, but it was there. Every story she told him had more credit now, more realism. Things he heard could be real. 

Fate could be real. 

\-----

Elsewhere, over the years, Clint never did believe in fate, or if he had, he was sure it was against him. He sometimes wanted to believe, because some people he grew up with believed, but it was hard. There was the orphanage, and running away, and the circus, and Trickshot, and betrayal. There were good times as well, as those did come with this kind of life. Once in a while. But he didn’t grow up a happy child.

Happiness didn’t come until much, much later in his life. When he’d meet a man that changed his life. When he met Philip Coulson, a man in a suit, offering him a new start at a life. A job. And much later, love, as fate might have guided them to. 

\-----*-----

Phil felt his heart jump up out of his throat as the explosion shock wave rocked his body. Swallowing it back down in place he gasped for breath, hands reaching for his ears to belatedly cover them. The world around him shook, rubble and dust fell above him, and glass showered over them. 

His radio went off in his ear, a hum of others checking in, seeing what happened. “Explosion. West side of building.” he managed to call over the coms before stumbling out of the room he had been in and into the hallway. His suit was dusty, his feet didn’t land just right. He felt glass and dirt fall off him with each step. His hand hit the radio at his hip, changing channels. “Hawkeye? Come in!?”

He hit a wall as he ran, coming around a corner, and then towards the stairwell. Nearly running down them. Just ahead of him was a faint wiggle of brown, the ribbon at his finger flopping almost still. His eyes looked over at his hand that gripped the orange railings of the stairs, eyes going a little wider. His other hand flipped channels again. “Hawkeye down. Wounded. Extraction team needed, now!” 

Switching back he gasped as he ran, not really from fatigue, but fear creeping into his chest. “Clint? Clint, talk to me. Come in?” Oh god, please come in. He hit the first floor and crashed into the door, pushing the crash bar and running out, being assaulted by bright light of the sun, dust settling from the building. He darted to the corner and stumbled to a stop. The building Hawkeye was on had been five stories tall. It was now caved in on itself, and half of it blown out across the street and intersection. Cars were covered under rubble, people were crying, screaming. The traffic of the street was sparse at least, but there were innocents trapped out here. 

SHIELD already had a team of people coming in, digging through the rubble and helping people out of cars and away down the street. There were sirens of ambulances coming in, cops as well, to come and help. He heard people giving orders here and there, but none of them were his people. Moving, he started through the mess, back to running. 

_No. No. No. Clint... god damn it._ He thought, unable to keep his mind still. The string at his finger was so short now, and so very lifeless. It was still a tinted red color, not completely brown. Not Black, not pink. Nothing but a dying color. If he hadn’t been able to see this, he would be considering other things. Maybe he was alright. Maybe he got to another building. Maybe he’d just be bruised up. Maybe it could be anything. Instead he knew he was hurt. He knew he was dying, because he could see it. 

That thought scared him more then anything. 

By time he got to the other side of the street and towards the building a hopeless feeling washed over him. The building was demolished. He moved towards a opening, considering going in, but rubble was falling still. He backed up, went farther down to the alley way, but it was covered as well. He felt himself panicking, which was very much NOT how Phil Coulson worked, but he could feel it. 

He could also feel his pinky tingle. A glance to his finger and he found the dark mystical fate string pointing... up. Tugging. Like a sick and dying child reaching for the heavens. Phil looked up. A glint of something catching his eye, like the old days. Nothing at all was there to shine, but he saw it. Looking just up from that he saw on the other building, pockmarked and cracked from the explosion but still standing, a bow, hanging off the edge of the building. 

Scrambling to the other building he pushed his way past people, past security, and made his way in. A old hotel it seemed, not well kept and more so now that it had been beaten with explosion. People were being evacuated out, but Phil pushed against the grain and moved fast.

When he reached the roof top access he had to shove hard, pushing rubble aside as he opened the door. It was dusty, smoky up here, the fire from the other building could be seen easily as well. He had to hurry. 

“Clint!” he called out but got no answer. The string on his hand was reaching though, towards where he saw the bow earlier. Trotting across the rubbled roof he saw the others body, twisted on the gravel of the roof. Crouching near him he looked him over. There was blood, coming from his chest and back. 

On the radio he called that he found Barton and needed medical evac now.

His voice must have stirred the other, for Barton moved, groaning and shifting to look up at the other. “Hey... Boss.” He groaned on a weak voice. “I... made the jump.” 

“Made it a bit late, don’t you think?” Phil said, trying to keep his voice steady. “It’s alright, I found you.” 

“Knew you... would.” He groaned out before passing out completely. 

By time the rescue team had made it to them Phil thought his heart would be as shattered as the rubble around them. He had managed to cover the bleeding and put pressure on it until the others arrived, which might have helped save his life. Or at least made Phil feel like he had done something to save his life. 

The little ribbon around his finger was still faded and short, but it moved, reaching out for them to follow where they took Clint. It distracted Phil, very badly. Mostly because he had a job to do. He had to let others do their job to save Clint, while he had to make sure others were safely doing their job to save others. 

By time they were done the fire was under control, civilians were safe, and no losses were tallied at all. Just a few critically wounded people, all of which were said to make a recovery. 

\-----

At the SHIELD associated hospital Phil sat with a Data Pad, entering information in silently and leaning back in his chair. They were putting Barton through some last minute processing, making sure he was fit enough to be ready to go. 

He was. Phil knew. The string was bad to normal and it only took a week of healing to get to this point. A week that Phil spent most his time here. Spent most his time by the man's bed side, stealing his green jello, reading, doing work, taking calls if they were forwarded to him. Doing general business. 

A week of watching over the other man as he slept, rested and recovered. 

The injuries weren’t as bad as they could have been, though they were bad enough to have nearly killed him. The doctor said it was a good thing they found him so fast. There were a few other people who weren’t so lucky and we’re either dead or in critical condition still. Clint would have been one of them if Phil hadn’t managed to get there so fast. 

“No. You said I was free to go. Don’t even joke!” Clint’s voice could be heard from down the hall. Coulson looked up, brow raised. 

A nurse followed after him, a hospital bag in her hand, holding him things. “Yes, but at least put some pants on, Agent.”

Clint was still in his hospital gown, bare footed and carrying his boots and socks. Once in a while hoping to try to get a sock on. Phil was pretty sure, by the expression the nurse had, that Clint was bare assed and showing it all. 

“Agent Barton.” Coulson said in his authoritative agent voice. “Put some cloths on or we’re not going anywhere. 

Clint stopped almost instantly, sock half on, one boot dropped to the floor, and looking at the man nearly stunned. “Well that’s a fine ‘How do you do’ if I ever heard one.” 

Phil smiled now, softer, kinder then when he was Coulson. He started to walk near the man and nurse, and reached out to take the offered bag. “I’ll take it from here, miss. Thank you.” He reached down to grab the boot then pulled Clint by the arm to a near by empty patient room and offered him his boxers. “Get dressed. It’s cold outside.” 

“They wanted me to sit in a wheelchair, Boss.” He said, yanking the shorts from the mans hand and groaning as he bent over to pull them on. “I can walk.” 

“It’s protocol.” Coulson said simply. He watched the little red string wrapping around Clint in a very happy way. Looping his wrists and arm, up his elbow, around his chest and down his body. Almost like it was hugging him. Phil wondered if the string mimicked his emotions and desires. He wanted to hug the man, look him over, fuss. Before, when he went looking for him he was panicked, wanting to reach out to the other and grab him, much like his string was trying. They wanted to find him, and they had. 

“It’s stupid.” Clint chimed, now pulling the pants that were offered to him, on. 

“You turn into a ten year old when you’re in the hospital.” Phil teased softly.

“I had a few issues as a kid with hospitals. Remind me to tell you about the time my brother broke my arm on accident. I had the staff of that hospital up in arms for two days.” And he was stuck, arm frozen from pain as he moved to try to get the shirt on. 

Phil doesn’t know about it, but his Great Aunt would have been able to tell him of that day. Those days when the string reacted badly to something. Phil raised a brow is all, reaching out to help his boyfriend get his shirt on properly. 

“Your brother broke your arm?” 

“Not on purpose. We were rough housing. Anyhow, never have liked hospitals since then. They only get worse the more I land in them.” 

“Then stop doing things to get yourself hurt.” Phil said flatly, knowing that would never happen. 

Clint paused to stare at him, also knowing that would never happen. They both started to chuckle at the same time, grinning. 

Yeah. Right. 

Not in this line of work. 

Phil pulled the man's shirt down fully and leaned in, looking at him closely. “I know. I know it will never happen. Not in our line of work.” He pulled him in closer, by his belt loops of his still unbuttoned pants. “But damn was I ever scared.” He admitted it, in a soft hushed tone. 

Clint looked... pleased, of all things. Pleased and apologetic all at once. He leaned in to steal a kiss from the other, in the privacy of a dimly lit patient room in a hospital he didn’t like, standing next to the man he did like. “Didn’t mean to scare you, but thank you for finding me.” 

“I’ll always come looking for you.” Phil said seriously, leaning back just enough to peek at the other. It was inappropriate to be this close to each other right now, but he didn’t care. It felt good, even if the other smelled like Hospital. “Lets get you home though.” 

“Then I can make out with you all I want, right?” 

“Within reason. You’re still healing.” 

“I’m as fit as can be.” Clint said with a wild grin, stepping back and flexing his good arm. 

“Mmhmm. I can tell. I can also tell it hurts to do that, so stop.” He told him sternly. 

Clint snorted, lowering his arm carefully. “The string tell you that?” 

“Not at all. I don’t need the fate string to tell me when you’re being an idiot. That strained look in your eyes is enough for me. Hurry up. Boots on and lets get out of here. I have your discharge papers already.

Grinning, Clint leaned in to smooch the man's cheek, then went to a chair to start with his boots. “Anything you want, Boss.”

\-----

Outside of the hospital the two went back to Phil’s place. Clint being under orders to take it easy still, Phil figured it would be best to keep him somewhere close. 

That and the red string of fate didn’t seem to want to let the other go. 

It wrapped around the both of them. It danced any time there was separation between then. It twinned them together any time they were close. And as Clint pushed his healing time by sitting on top of Phil to make out with him, Phil could just barely make out the red lines, weaved around between them. 

Sometimes he could swear he could FEEL the soft ribbon pressure around his arms and wrists, tying them together. Sometimes without even looking, he was sure he could feel the ribbon slide over his skin and pull Clint closer. Because he wanted Clint closer.

He wanted him close and safe for as long as he can have him that way. He knows. KNOW it’s not so easy to do in this line of work, but at least he can keep an eye out for his heart. His heart being the man who wanted to be just as close as Phil wanted.


End file.
